


And the Ravens Come Home to Roost

by ten10texas



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 20:14:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22123804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ten10texas/pseuds/ten10texas
Summary: There was an imagine a few years ago--"Imagine you had to have sex with Thranduil to free the Company." There's quite a few fics of Thranduil forcing people to have sex, coercing people to have sex, or flat out raping people and I thought it would be interesting to write a fic about what might happen were these actions to come to light.This is set at the beginning of the fourth age.The non-con is not graphic, just referenced. The main pairing is Gimli/Legolas
Relationships: Gimli (Son of Glóin)/Legolas Greenleaf, Thranduil (Tolkien)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 37





	And the Ravens Come Home to Roost

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Wanderer in a Shadowed Land](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6750340) by [kaeorin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaeorin/pseuds/kaeorin). 



After the war came the weddings, first Aragorn and Arwen's, then Faramir and Eowyn's. His father attended both, and while Legolas did not expect friendship between his father and the dwarves, he was struck by the degree of disdain, frank _**revulsion,**_ in which the dwarves of Erebor held him. As if his father was the worst sort of criminal, as if he had committed some terrible act beyond the long conflict between dwarves and elves, no, this was far beyond that prejudice and personal to him specifically.

Gimli would not speak of it, but neither would he let it go. The dwarf was subtle in his disgust, and it was disgust. Not prejudice, not disdain, and in Gimli's case only directed toward Thranduil.

At both weddings, Gimli spoke with Lord Elrond, traded tales of the bravery and foolishness of the hobbits, how they tracked Pippin and Merry cross country for days without sleep only to find them taller, fatter, sitting in the ruins of Isenguard eating and smoking pipeweed. They laughed together, Gimli loud and brash, and Elrond softer, tempered by the grief he still felt over Arwen's choice. At the nightly feasts, Gimli attended upon the Lady Galadriel like a gallant of old, so much so that Legolas felt a less than noble rush of jealousy that added ardor to their lovemaking. When Gimli realized the source of it, he gave Legolas a pleased smile then gruffly declared, “One elf is enough for me. I've tied my life to yours, lad, as long as you will have me.”

* * *

That night, under the stars, they pledged their troth before Eru Iluvatar and no other.

* * *

The next day, when his kin called him _elf-lover_ , Gimli laughed and said, “Aye, that I am, and proud of it.”

Legolas's heart filled with love and guilt, for though he shared his bed with Gimli nightly, he had yet to acknowledge the nature of their relationship publicly to his kin. Though in truth there had been no easy opportunity to do so. He wasn't sure if his father found it too unbelievable to comprehend, or was simply refusing to acknowledge it, but he said nothing. No elf did.

Gimli's family was neither so obtuse nor so circumspect.

“But _**Thranduil's**_ son?” Gloin said incredulously, almost too quiet for Legolas to hear.

“Aye. The son is nothing like the father,” Gimli said gruffly, “He is honorable, not,” he cast his eyes around the hall and did not see where Legolas leaned against the far wall in shadow, “the sort to,” Gimli made a sound of revulsion, a sound Legolas had only ever heard him make regarding what he called _**orcwork**_ , “the sort to,” Gimli wasn't able to bring himself to speak of it and he saw on his lover's face grief and horror.

Gloin was silent, then he said, “Aye. You know your own mind, then.”

“He wants me to visit Mirkwood.”

Gloin grunted, a sound of disgust, but said nothing.

“There are surely good people there.”

“And terrible deeds done. Son, I would not see you enter the Halls of Thranduil for all the gold and gems in all the world.”

“Legolas knows _**nothing.**_ ”

“You would be a fool to tell him.”

“He has a _**brother**_ from it.”

“He will not thank you for the truth, lad. Nor would the child's mother, were she yet living. Kind she was, a good companion and noble friend.”

Gimli grimaces, then drains his ale, “Aye.”

A brother? Gloin must be in error. The dwarves were full of tales of the evil deeds of elves, Legolas thought dismissively, and his father was hardly friendly to them. No doubt the old dwarf held a grudge over his time in his father's dungeons, though no harm came to he or his companions. After ensuring they were no threat, his father released them, even showed a degree of favor to the human among them. A young girl, pretty for a human he remembered. His father had spoken of her with disdain mixed with pity on occasion. Perhaps that pity had prompted this ridiculous tale, and perhaps the girl made it up to explain an unwanted pregnancy. She would hardly be the first human to spread such a tale. To hear the men of Dale and Laketown, elves were forever abducting innocent human maidens, as if the rangers of his land had time or inclination to commit so very many and so varied acts of perversion. Ridiculous. The Eldar did not do such things.

* * *

Later that evening, his lover came to bed. They kissed, exchanged intimacies, and then breathless in each other's arms Legolas looked on his love and murmured, “ _Lirimaer._ ”

Gimli's reaction was not as expected. He looked horrified, and shouted, “Do _**not**_ call me such!” He got out of bed and began pulling on his clothes, the revulsion from earlier back on his face.

“It means _lovely one_. A term of endearment among our people.”

“Not _**ours**_ ,” was all he said and practically bolted from the quarters they shared.

* * *

Gimli would not speak of it, and Legolas wearied of asking. He never called him _lirimaer_ again.

* * *

Legolas invited Gimli every time he went home, but he didn't press him. Gimli never went. Not once. He never asked of Thranduil, but he listened with polite interest when Legolas relayed stories of home.

They were happy in Ithilien, in the Glittering Caves, in both of their lands their relationship was an open secret no one understood but that all, somehow, accepted. If his father knew of it, he remained silent.

Not that it mattered to him. With Gimli Legolas had found happiness, contentment, a partnership. Their lands bloomed around them and Ithilien especially became fairer than any land in all the west, a land where men, elves, dwarves and even a small contingent of brave and hardy hobbits, Tooks apparently, lived and prospered in harmony.

More elves arrived each day from his father's realm, moreso than from Lothlorien, Imladris, or from the scattered bands of the Avari, so many his father's initial pleasure at what he referred to as _**my son's first kingdom**_ became something colder and less pleased.

Yet still the elves came.

* * *

Gimli's father, Gloin, spent his last years with them. At first Legolas was merely cordial on behalf of his lover, but the old dwarf's clear pleasure at the happiness of his son and open acceptance of their relationship sparked in him a fondness mixed with grief for he knew this dwarf was soon to die, death was writ large upon his wrinkled face, stalked him now as a wary hunter soon to strike.

Five years he dwelt with them, and yet Gloin spoke not a word to him about his father. Not one. Not even when Legolas spoke to him about Greenwood, the latest politics or gossip. Always, it was _**to**_ him he spoke, for much like Gimli he listened but said nothing in return, not on this. If questioned, the dwarf was courteous but tended to claim a convenient deafness when topics he did not wish to discuss were broached. Frustrating, even offensive, but then had he seriously thought this partnership would be without difficulty?

At least it was only the father and not the son Gloin despised. Indeed, Gloin so favored him that Legolas was both amused and touched. Mithril armor arrived for him, a full set, more resplendent even than his father's. Gloin ordered artisans from Erebor to come and he and Gimli's dwellings became so fair that Lord Glorfindal on visiting declared Ithilien reminiscent of Gondolin and the Glittering Caves of Doriath.

In the last year of his life, Gloin called him _**son**_ and Legolas called him _**father**_. It was the truth between them, and then he was gone and Legolas wept and wondered how he would survive the loss of Gimli when the time came, as come it must to all mortals.

* * *

The journey to Erebor was not unreasonably long, not in these days of peace and well built roads, and the dwarves somehow contrived to keep the body cool and preserved, a process that filled Legolas with some horror, a horror he hid from Gimli. It seemed too much like attempting to imitate the life of the Eldar with only the hroa, the fea fled, and minded him of Sauron's work. He rode ahead of the funeral train under the guise of scouting the land and Gimli let him.

At the funeral Legolas saw Tauriel, the first time he had seen her since he left her bowed in grief over her dwarven lover, Kili. She was as beautiful as always, but the pain he once felt for her was gone leaving only the warmth of their friendship. His father spoke of her sometimes, more often than not with anger mixed with a kind of regret, but on occasion he spoke with respect of her skills as a negotiator. Erebor appointed her envoy to the elves, and as their envoy she was wealthy, respected, and powerful in her own right.

Thranduil said she had turned more dwarf than elf, but Legolas saw none of that. Proud she seemed, confident, she wore the braids of her dwarven rank and Kili's house but also her elven warrior braids, a combination that seemed to well suit her. The clothes of a dwarrowdam, if longer, but her knives were the ones he remembered from her days as a ranger in his father's service, as was her bow.

Three days all Erebor grieved Gloin, and then he was entombed in the halls of his fathers. After, there was a week of feasting declared, and the first night proceeded with much laughter and tale telling. This was much like the funeral customs of the Eldar and Legolas's mood lifted with the return of his lover's thoughts to life. That night, the first in a month, he made love to Gimli tenderly in the halls of his fathers.

* * *

The dwarves of Erebor were not friendly to him, but neither were they unfriendly, saving but one—an elderly dwarf with a gray streaked blue beard who looked upon him with disgust. The dwarf seemed slightly familiar to Legolas, but he could not place him.

On the third night of feasting he asked Gimli, “Who is this dwarf that looks upon me with so grim an eye?”

Gimli hunched in, then said, “Ignore him, laddie. He is but an old dwarf unwilling to let go of the past.”

“Have I offended him in some manner, or is my mere existence the offense so clearly written in his stare,” Legolas eyed his tormentor coolly, then reached out to stroke Gimli's marriage braid, the one he wore to match Legolas's own. The dwarf's frown deepened.

“Leave off, laddie,” Gimli's said with irritation and twitched out of reach, “this is a bear you'd be wise to not poke.”

“Hmmm...” Legolas locked eyes with the dwarf, turned his head to the side and prominently displayed his own marriage braid, then turned back with a mocking smile on his lips. In that moment, Legolas looked like nothing so much as his father.

It gratified him to see the old dwarf stomping towards them.

“This rapist's son has no business under this mountain or in your bed, Gimli son of Gloin! You make a mockery of your own father's funeral by bringing him here, to this place, where his bastard brother was born to a woman of more honor that this pretty princess you've taken up with could ever hope to know! Aye, raped her and left her with naught but a child in her belly and shame, a shame she could not bear to carry within these halls. And you take up with the wretched son of this vile woodland monster...” here he lapsed into Khuzdul, but it was clear it was more of the same.

Silence. The hall fell into silence and averted gazes, and those who looked upon him, the few gazes he met, were filled with pity. Tauriel. In her eyes he saw such sorrow and knew the old dwarf spoke the truth.

He left, strode from the hall and through corridors and out through the great gates, to where he did not know.

* * *

In the morning he returned, the light in his face dimmer, grim and determined. In the office of trade he found Tauriel and he said, “Tell me the truth.”

She stood, reluctance in every line of her body, “I will tell you what I know from my own eyes and the words of the guard, but nothing more. Dwalin should tell his own tale.”

Grimly Legolas nodded, and Tauriel began her tale:

“Some of this you know for you saw it as well as I--your father's decision to detain the dwarves, Thorin's defiance of him and your father's wrath. But it was not the halfling that won their escape through trickery, but rather the human woman who paid the price for their release. Your father,” here her lips curled in disgust, “offered to free the dwarves if she bedded him. Not for love, but for revenge, he told her so himself. He thought Thorin desired her and he _**used**_ her as a tool. She refused him at first, rightly horrified at such degradation, such cruelty, but once the hobbit was captured and all hope of freedom lost, she yielded.”

Tauriel paused, and her hands went to her knives. “This I did not see with my own eyes, else I would have freed the dwarves and left your father's halls that much sooner, but I saw the truth in the faces of the king's guard when they told me, the truth and their disgust at such vile work. But I was there when she came weary and sorrowful in the morning. I thought perhaps she but regretted her part in their defiance of the king. She unlocked the dwarves bonds, her shoulders hunched with shame and fear, and I saw it as but the stance of one properly chastened. I knew not what he had wrought upon her until, with his own mouth, I heard him say, 'if there is a child, you will return here.' He offered her a place, and she flinched, as if struck. Then,” Tauriel gulped, as if she were choking down nausea, “he bit her neck in front of the dwarves, marked her and called her _lirimaer_. Again he invited her return, child or no child, and seemed confident of it, as if she had been, she had been _**blessed**_ by his attentions.” Tauriel shuddered, “The king's guard said more of his night with her, but I will not speak to you of those things.”

“Why did you not tell me?”

Tauriel paused and swallowed, “In his rage and hatred of Thorin, he cared not who saw his revenge. But after he looked upon us and we saw him consider our deaths. Finally, he sneered, 'Who would believe you, simple Silvan elves all?' Two heard the bargain offered, two heard the night she endured, three heard him admit the act and of them I was the highest in rank. He chose well. We would not be believed.”

“I would have believed you.”

“I could not bring myself to tell you such a vile story. I fled that place in fear and anger, sick over my part in such deeds. I was told you left as well, and thought perhaps you knew.”

“I did not. I left,” it was an old pain, what harm to speak it now? “I left for grief of you.”

She was astounded, Legolas could see in her expression that Tauriel had known nothing of his love. “Your father spoke of your fondness for me, and warned me not to give you hope, that he would not permit you to marry a lowly Silvan elf. I did not mean to cause you grief.”

The numbness in his heart gave way to anger, such anger he stood shaking, “What of the woman and my brother?”

“Not just a brother, not at first. She delivered twins, a boy and a girl. Both blond and strongly favoring your father, both clearly of the Sindar nobility. Their mother could not bear the shame of their birth and so, taking the portion of the treasure allotted to her, she hired guards and made for Gondor where your father's face is less known. The girl died in an orc raid en route, but the boy grew up strong and well in Gondor, became a merchant of some renown. His mother wrote to Erebor, but the last letter came over fifty years ago. The woman is surely dead, your brother I know not.”

“His name?”

“She gave him a dwarvish name, Thorin, though last I heard he took the name, Angemel. Dwalin may know more of his fate.”

He nodded and turned to leave.

“Legolas,” she looked on him with sorrow and pity, “You dwell with Gimli in joy, or so I have heard. Perhaps you should not...”

He cut her off, “I have a brother to find. Farewell, Tauriel,” he bowed and covered his heart with his hand. He could not bear another second of her pity.

She did the same, “Farewell, Legolas.”

NOTES:

Angemel is Sindarin for "iron heart"


End file.
